Azazel's Second Plan
by Casia Gomez
Summary: Azazel the yellow-eyed demon is still alive and after many years, finds the Winchesters. His main problem is that he's a powerless cat and can't let them know it. What starts out as an evil plan begins to change into something else...something nice. How long will all of this last? (No slash)
1. The Problem

**I do not own Supernatural or its characters. Enjoy!**

* * *

The yellow-eyed demon known as Azazel had mostly heard, but also watched, everything that had happened ever since he "died." His first plan failed, but the second one was in action, and he had to wait patiently. He'd been waiting a lot of years, though, keeping his head low, avoiding detection from hunters, demons, and angels. Keeping his head low? That's an understatement.

He was a cat.

Azazel wasn't exactly sure how it happened. One moment Dean Winchester had been pointing the Colt at him and the next he was on all fours a thousand miles away in some black cat with white paws and yellow eyes. It could have been some sort of freaky reincarnation. After all, demons didn't go to purgatory when they died... So they became cats or worse? Either way, he hated licking himself, the whole humiliating process.

He couldn't get out of his current vessel, set houses on fire, push people against walls, or teleport, but he could talk. That had to be enough for now, until he could figure out how to get his other, vessel back, become King of Hell...again, and set Lucifer free...again. He needed to research information like that, and the only place he could think of that had loads of it was the old Men of Letters bunker. He had known about the Men of Letters since forever, but the new news on the street that he'd eavesdropped on said that the Winchesters were there.

Azazel had to act innocent and cute so people would give him rides from place to place. Being cute was not easy for a demon like Azazel, but he tried his best to be an actor. He didn't even have the power to kill them. There was a day when he was feared and respected by the residents of hell, but now people called him "kitty" all the time and spoke to him in a demeaning manner.

It was early evening as he arrived close to his destination. He was just crossing a street in Lebanon, Kansas—the town near the Men of Letters' bunker—when he was hit by a car. And not just any car; the '67 Impala.

Azazel didn't know whether he was lucky or not. Sure, his left lung was smashed in, but he found his target.

"Oh hell no!" Dean yelled, climbing out of the car. He bent over to examine Azazel's cat body. "Damn cat's still breathing. Don't worry, little fella, I'll put you out of your misery..."

Not good. Not good at all. Through the years and some misfortune, Azazel seemed to be an indestructible cat. He'd been stabbed in the throat by a punk-gangster-devil worshipper kid and survived—after ripping the dude's eyes out (an advantage to having claws). There were also the times when a brick hit him in the head, the rabid Doberman, bad tacos, and the paranoid preacher who put him in a sack and threw him in the river. But if he didn't die when Dean was going to put a bullet in his head, that would be trouble, and Dean would probably do something to make sure Azazel was dead this time.

"_Meow_," Azazel purred as Dean took out his gun, wishing he didn't have to act so pathetic. He looked up at the Winchester with big, sad, yellow eyes.

Dean hesitated. Why did he feel like this cat had a chance? Why did he feel like the cat shouldn't die? He thought of the Mark of Cain on his arm, how for once he might be able to save a life. He also happened to think of Sam when he hit the dog and met a girl those years ago. Dean could meet a girl—one that didn't require money or a pole—and then go to their place. Women love cats.

Azazel painfully meowed again, grabbing Dean's attention.

Dean put his gun away behind his back, picked Azazel up, got in the impala, and doubled the speed limit on the way to the veterinary clinic.

_It's gonna be Hell to pay, _Azazel thought.

Little did they know that things wouldn't work out like that.


	2. Adopted by Enemies

While Azazel was unconscious and being taken care of by animal surgeons, Dean waited on a gray, foldup chair, "reading" an issue of _Sports Illustrated_. He looked up from his magazine often enough to check out all the female veterinarians. His story would be that his beloved cat was accidentally kicked by his brother who was so tall that he couldn't always see to the floor.

After some time, the attractive female assistant, dressed in pink scrubs, exited the emergency room. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, looking scholarly with a clipboard in hand. "Dean Smith?" she called.

"Yo," Dean stood up, noticing that she looked like one of his fantasies. Asian, with a full chest.

"Your cat is really lucky to be alive," she told him. "I'm going to need you to fill out this form." She handed Dean a sheet of paper from her clipboard. "How did this happen, anyways?"

"My tall brother, who can't always see to the floor, accidentally kicked him."

"You sure? It looks like your cat was hit by a car," the vet stated.

"My brother's pretty big, Cameron," he eyed her name tag. "He could be his own brand of car."

Cameron smiled, gave a laugh, and left Dean standing there with the form. He sat back down and looked at the sheet of paper, grabbing a pen from the magazine table beside him. He circled "cat" under the species section, but the next question was harder. Name of pet. Dean didn't even know the cat's gender, so he picked what sounded like a neutral name.

Mittens._ That's legit, _Dean thought.

Meanwhile, when he woke up, Azazel's vision kept swaying from side to side. He tried to stand, but his side hurt. He'd be better in a few hours; he healed quickly. There was gauze, stained in some blood, wrapped all around his middle.

Other cats and small dogs were trapped in adjacent cages, uselessly meowing and barking. The place smelled. He couldn't stand it, wishing he didn't have all the abilities that a normal cat did. "Shut up," he said to the animals. They did, puzzled.

Finally, two people stopped in front of his cage. One was Cameron the veterinarian, who reeked of disinfectant, and the other was Dean. Cameron unlocked the cage and Dean gently pulled him out. Since Azazel was now cradled at Dean's chest, he could smell cherry pie.

"Maybe you should let me check his gauze," Cameron suggested, Dean passing Azazel over to her. She set him on a cold metal surface and unwrapped the gauze. "Whoa."

"What?" Dean asked.

"His lungs are healing almost...too well."

"He takes after me," Dean grinned.

Azazel rolled his eyes.

Cameron gave him new gauze, handed Azazel back to Dean, and then guided them to the front doors. "Remember to check his wounds, keep the bandages fresh, and don't let him lick that area until it's healed better. Be back here in three days. And tell your brother to be more careful."

"I will," Dean said, giving Cameron a check with his phone number written on it. He winked, then carefully got into the Impala, holding Azazel with one arm.

On the way home, Azazel wanted to hack up a hairball. He was sitting in the lap of the enemy. Years ago, they'd wanted to kill each other! What's even worse is that Dean was scratching Azazel behind the ears—and he liked it!

Then Dean started to have a one-sided conversation with him, still giving Azazel a sort of head rub. "Alright, cat, your name is Mittens. You got that?"

_MITTENS?! _Azazel yelled inside his mind, suddenly self-conscious of his white paws against the sleek blackness of his body. _What kind of badass are you supposed to be?! Like I'm the one to talk..._

"Secondly, you are going to be meeting my brother. His name is Sam."

_Are you so lonely you're talking to a cat?_

"I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester. We don't have cat food, so I hope you like burgers and pie. What about Asian chicks?"

_You talkin' about birds?_

"Ah, yes, Siamese. I see what type of guy you are."

"Mrow," Azazel meowed in annoyance.

"Russian Blue? Man, you've got class." Dean continued to stroke his head almost lovingly.

_Go to hell._

Dean hit a good spot, then a rumble started in Azazel's chest. _Wh-why am I purring?! Damn it all! _It had been a long time since he had let anyone pet him and he wasn't used to this kind of thing. Emotions, yuck.

"Awww, you're purring," Dean stated. "You're gonna like it with us. Hopefully, Sam will let me keep you."

* * *

"No," Sam answered after Dean had entered the bunker with Azazel cuddled in his arms. His tail twitched irritably, but he still purred. He just had to wait until they went away on a case, then browse through the shelves of information to see if his condition could be helped.

"Why not?" Dean stroked the cat's head and neck.

"We don't have the materials to keep a cat, much less the money."

"I already paid for the vet and I have some leftover pie."

"Vet?" Sam asked. He had a flashback, back to when Dean was in purgatory and Sam was living with a vet.

"I kind of...hit him." Dean shrugged. Azazel frowned when Dean stopped petting, cursed himself for that thought, then he was content again when Dean resumed, and cursed at himself over and over. It was like he'd lost touch with his demonic side over the years.

"You—?" Sam was cut off.

"It's going to work out like when you hit that dog. I already met an attractive veterinarian."

"You're using the cat to get laid?"

"Sort of. But he's also friendly and lovable."

Azazel gagged. _That needs fixing._

Dean continued, "And his name is Mittens. Wanna hold him?"

Sam looked at the cat. He stared back with yellow eyes. Sam wasn't comfortable for a reason he couldn't put his finger on. "I'm good."

"You sure?" Dean asked, holding Azazel outward.

Sam backed up, giving the cat a distasteful stare. "Yeah."

"Dude, he's just a cat."

"Shouldn't we, like, spritz him with holy water?"

Dean shielded his new pet. "He didn't do anything wrong and you're just paranoid and jealous."

"That might be true since we, uh, run into monsters all the friggin' time!" Sam pointed out.

"He's just a cat, Sammy," Dean repeated.

Sam sighed. "You gotta take care of him all by yourself."

"I can do that," replied Dean confidently.

Sam gave Dean a look. "We've never had a pet."

"Doesn't matter. Now we finally have the chance to!"

Sam didn't like the color of that cat's eyes. He was reminded of something...


	3. How to Annoy Sammy

Azazel wasn't in the mood for pie, but he had to eat it anyways since Sam wanted to keep his precious burgers. They all sat at the same table in the library, Sam on his laptop doing research, Dean looking through a dirty magazine, and Azazel eating day-old cherry pie. Sam looked up from his laptop every once in a while, doubting the cat's integrity and Dean's sanity.

The silence broke after Dean sighed dreamily (more like inappropriately) for the hundredth time.

Sam cleared his throat. "So, where is Mittens going to sleep?"

"With me."

Azazel spat out the pie. _There's no way in hell I'm sleeping with either of you, _he angrily thought.

Dean looked up from his magazine. "Something wrong with the pie, buddy?"

"Cats shouldn't eat pie," Sam commented.

"Guys shouldn't have long hair."

"You should have an STD from sleeping with all those women. Heck, it might now even be called a Sexually Transmitted Dean!" Sam almost couldn't keep a straight face, corners of his mouth twitching.

Dean glared at his brother. Azazel now enjoyed this, laughing on the inside. Wait. Laughing? Sure, he liked to laugh at people after he screwed with their minds, smile evilly at them. Nothing going against his nature here. Right?

"I'm going to go get Mittens some water," Dean said, leaving for the kitchen.

Azazel thought he'd have a bit more fun to get his manipulative side back, starting by getting in between Sam and his computer screen. Sam removed Azazel, gently putting him on the floor. Azazel hopped back up on the table and laid on the keyboard, sending a bunch of J's across the Google search engine. Sam swore that something was wrong with Dean and his cat as he moved the laptop out from under Azazel, moving to the table's other end. The yellow-eyed cat trotted over to the annoyed Winchester, who stood up and stayed that way, giving the demon the weirdest stare possible.

Dean returned and set a bowl full of tap water in front of Azazel. See, when Dean was in the kitchen, he put holy water in the bowl, thinking that Sam needed to chill. Azazel bent down and lapped it up without a problem.

"Ha," Dean remarked to Sam. "That was holy water. Believe me now?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at the black cat with white paws. Maybe he was just paranoid. "Anyways, I haven't found any cases, so we have a vacation for now."

"Strippers," Dean said, his mind drifting to dark, scary places.

_What am I going to do if they don't leave? _Azazel wondered. His plans now changed to sneaking out in the middle of the night to find an informational book on demons. His plans had been changing a lot lately.

"You got him a litterbox, right?" Sam asked.

"Always with the awkward questions," Dean retorted. "I'll just let him outside."

"He better not come back."

"Of course he'll come back. Right, Mittens?"

"Meow," Azazel agreed.

"Well, I'm going to bed," Sam announced, shuffling down the hallway to his room.

"It's only 9 o'clock," Dean yelled after him, then turned back to Azazel and sat down, stroking his soft fur. "Guess I'll go find a stripper."

Azazel lashed his tail.

"Right. First I'll show you around," Dean said, scooping Azazel into his arms.

_Not again_, he whined.

Dean took Azazel down the hallways, rubbing the cat's head. He reluctantly purred. "That's Sam's room," Dean said, "That's my room, there's where we keep a demon like Crowley..."

Azazel hadn't thought about Crowley in a while. Apparently he was the new king of hell, already having his authority challenged by Abbadon, who was close to Azazel before she disappeared, time traveled, and died, since Dean now had the Mark of Cain. To think, the Winchesters helping out Crowley, and Crowley helping them out. Seems as though the years had changed those boys into devil's advocates.

All to Azazel's credit, thank you very much.

"Here's the back door," Dean said, opening it and gently placing Azazel on the floor. "Go hunt."

He wanted to stay inside and research, so he sat down and peered up at the Winchester.

"What's the matter? Don't wanna leave? I'll let you back in." Dean pushed on Azazel, who in turn rolled over on his back. "Alright. But I'm not letting you outside at 2 in the morning." Dean closed the door. "What are you lookin' at?" He was beginning to wonder about his cat. Maybe he had hit him too hard and now Mittens had brain damage.

Azazel blinked, twitching his tail cutely and rubbing his head on the floor.

"Okay, okay," Dean walked away. "No chick-flick moments."

Azazel sighed and stood up. He couldn't handle this lifestyle. If he tried to research now, Dean might come back and catch him reading. Cats don't read books about demons. Then he had another brilliant idea.

After Dean left for the strip club, turning most of the lights out, Azazel decided to mess with Sam, padding back to the door of his room. He always loved to mess with people. For years, Sam had been his favorite. It was about to get better; he scratched at the door and meowed loudly.

Sam cracked open the door, peering at the cat from hell. He was only wearing plaid pajama pants. Not the sight Azazel wanted to see. He noticed the anti-possession tattoo. Smart.

"Go away," Sam muttered.

Azazel pawed at the gap. Sam responded by widening the crack and sticking his foot through, pushing Azazel away. He meowed like he was complaining. Sam shut the door. Azazel scratched at it again. Sam opened it the whole way this time. "What do you want from me?!" he groaned.

Azazel walked in and did the typical cat thing: he brushed himself against Sam's legs and then jumped up on the bed. Sam's scent, unlike Dean's, smelled like Clorox (he takes good care of his clothes) with a hint of sulfur.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no," Sam said as Azazel turned around five times and then curled up. Sam grabbed Azazel by the sides and carried him out of his room, his grip too tight and awkward.

Well, he almost got him out of the room. When Sam slammed the door, Azazel's tail got caught and he yelped, sprinting down the hallway. His fur fluffed out. He saw himself in a mirror and was embarrassed, licking his sides (the non-bandaged areas) and his tail until they were back to normal.

"You're not my favorite anymore, Sam," he mumbled under his breath.


	4. Reading

**I wanted to take the time to say thanks for reading my story!**

* * *

Dean returned from the strip club some time later without a woman in arms, looking somewhat dejected. Azazel laid on a table, holding his gaze.

"They kicked me out," Dean explained. He tossed his jacket next to the cat and patted him on the head.

_Please don't explain, _Azazel thought.

Dean sighed. "I wasn't trying to take her bra off; it came loose!"

Azazel felt a hairball rising in his stomach.

"Lemme check your stitches, buddy," Dean lifted the material up, noticing that the wound had already closed up, stitches disappearing. He was a little too tired to care about this weird fact, though, unwrapping the gauze and throwing it in a trash can. "Anyways, I'm going to bed. Don't get into trouble." Dean stalked off to his room.

The demon/cat watched him go. After some time, Azazel quietly tiptoed down the hallway, butting the door to Dean's room open. He was flopped on top of the sheets, an arm hanging over the edge of the bed. Seeing that both Winchesters were sound asleep, Azazel trotted back into the library. Relieved and happy to be alone doing what he came here to do, he read the spines of the books and made his way to the demon section. It was helpful to still have his night vision since he didn't have the thumbs to turn on a lamp or flip a switch.

The book he wanted, "A Demon's Soul Explained", was on the top shelf. He couldn't jump all the way up there. He sighed and then leapt onto the third shelf out of five. Barely any room for his feet, he dug his claws into some of the other books and shelf space and climbed like he had been doing this all his life.

When he reached the top and had his paw on the book, he hadn't thought as to how to get it down without making noise. It would have to drop to the floor. Azazel had to try even if it did wake the brothers. At first, he brought it out at a 45 degree angle, gave it a good whack, sending it crashing to the floor. _THUMP_. The onomatopoeia echoed.

Azazel waited for Sam to run in and start screaming bloody murder, but neither of the Winchesters woke up. He jumped back down on the floor, pawed open a page, and began reading.

* * *

The next morning, Dean found Azazel curled up on his and Sam's jackets that they'd left on the table. Dean thought the cat looked absolutely adorable, as precious as an angel.

Sam did not.

"Dude," he said a bit angrily, "Your cat's getting hair on my jacket!"

"Shh, he's sleeping," Dean hushed.

"You know, I was doing some thinking last night," Sam began, trying to move the sleeping Azazel off his jacket, "and I happened to remember that you sneeze around cats."

Dean blinked. Azazel's eyes snapped open when he heard this. He had to do something, a distraction. He licked Sam's hand. This was when Azazel found out that Sam needed to wash his hands more.

"Yuck!" Sam muttered, pulling his hand away and examining it like it was infected.

"I don't always sneeze around _every_ cat," Dean defended his new furry friend. "Or maybe I got over that allergy, built up a resistance."

When Sam tried to remove Azazel off his jacket again, taking precaution not to have his hand licked again, the cat playfully grabbed Sam's hand with his paws and gently gnawed on his knuckles.

"Argh! Stop that!" Sam exclaimed.

"He's acting like a normal cat," Dean took hold of him and held him close. Azazel smirked. He was good at acting. "You're just a dog person, aren't you?"

"What's up with you lately?" Sam inquired.

"What do you mean?" Dean wondered aloud as Sam shook hair off his jacket. Both knew this was going to be a family argument.

"I mean, all of a sudden you care about this cat and you don't suspect anything even though I think there's something going on," the younger brother explained.

"We used holy water. I've seen him touch silver, so he's not a shapeshifter or werewolf. Must be a cat."

"You hit him yesterday and now he's perfectly fine."

Dean gazed at the purring cat in his arms. "Hm."

Sam shifted on his feet, a smug look on his face like he was Sherlock Holmes that had just solved a case.

"That vet must have good hands," Dean commented. "She hasn't even called me. You know, his appointment is two days from now, but I think I'll go today." He grabbed his jacket with one arm and walked out of the bunker. Azazel huffed.

Things were complicated enough. He hadn't read the entire book the previous night, still needing information. He also needed them to keep believing he was a normal cat. At least Dean thought he was typical. It was Sam he needed to convince. Sam had an effect on his older brother, that's for sure. Azazel was formulating another plan as he rode shotgun in Dean's impala.

Speaking of which, why was Dean letting an animal sit in his impala?

* * *

Sam noticed a book missing in one of the shelves on the top. There weren't any books on the tables. Oddly, there was one placed horizontally on the bottom shelf on the others. "A Demon's Soul Explained?" Sam asked himself. Dean could've been doing some reading, but the only "reading" Sam could think of Dean doing was the new issue of Busty Asian Beauties.

He put the book back into its rightful place and shuffled into the kitchen to make himself breakfast, not bothering to think anything more about it.

* * *

"What in the world...?" Cameron the veterinarian asked no one in particular as she examined Azazel's side with mint green gloved hands. Dean was also in the sterilized room, watching Cameron intently as Azazel laid on a shiny metal table calmly. "He's healed so fast," she mumbled. "I don't believe this." She looked over at Dean like he was a faith healer.

"Me neither," Dean said.

Cameron shrugged. "He could be a supercat."

Azazel was thankful this woman had a logical answer to everything.

"A supercat?"

She nodded. "Some scientists genetically modify cats to glow in the dark. In this case, his genes might've been enhanced to heal quickly or something." She eyed him with suspicion. "Anything I should know about?"

Dean didn't know. Did he have a supercat? He could brag about it to Sam. "Actually, my truck-of-a-brother is a geneticist."

"Really?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah, we've also got a snake that can blink," Dean bragged. Azazel scoffed.

"Can I get your number again? I might've lost it yesterday..." Cameron trailed off, blushing.

_Yes!_ Dean thought. _I'm getting somewhere!_ "You mean just lost, or...'lost'?" he made air quotes.

"Both," she replied, instead writing her number on a yellow sticky note and handing it to him.

"When do you get off work?" Dean shoved it in his pocket.

Azazel didn't like sitting through their dating plans. He hated mushy stuff.

"Six. We can have dinner half past the hour."

"Where?"

"Texas Roadhouse. Ah, and don't bring Mittens."

"Who?"

"Your cat."

"Oh."

Dean's mind was stuck in his zipper.


	5. Dead Squirrel

Once again, Sam had questions when Dean brought home a big, thick, old-fashioned television, one with knobs, rabbit ears, and, sadly, no remote. Azazel followed Dean in through the door and hopped on the table where Sam was trying to eat breakfast. Frowning, he moved his plate of bacon and scrambled eggs away from the cat.

"What's this?" Sam asked as Dean let the television rest on the floor.

"A TV." Dean dusted his hands off against each other.

"Yeah, I know that, but where did you get it?" he took a bite of bacon. Azazel edged closer, hungry for breakfast. Sam scooted farther away.

"Garage sale," Dean replied. "My room needs a TV."

"What about _my_ room?"

"You have your laptop. You should really marry that thing," Dean joked.

Azazel kept staring at Sam's plate.

"Did you feed Mittens?" Sam questioned.

"Whoops!" Dean rushed into the kitchen, came back out with bacon.

"Hey, that's mine," Sam grumbled.

"You're not eating it."

"I was going to," Sam watched as the plate was set in front of Azazel, Dean helping himself to the bacon, too.

"Make more," Dean said with his mouth full.

"What did the vet say?"

"He's a supercat."

Sam glared at the bacon-eating cat who happily crunched away. "Seriously?"

"Mhm. He's got enhanced genes."

_Might explain why he's so freaky. _"Shouldn't we turn him in for a reward, then?" Sam asked.

"No. Testing on animals is bad. And Cameron might wonder."

"Is Cameron the vet?"

"Oh yeah. She's hot. I got a date at six thirty, by the way, so you'll stay here with Mittens."

Sam could understand that, though the cat made him uneasy. Maybe he was being too uptight about all of this. He worried about his brother every day, what the Mark of Cain was doing to him. He realized Dean needed this cat, not just for the hot vet. Dean needed something careless like a cat, who wouldn't worry about him, but be unquestioning, loyal, simply playful. To be honest, Sam was somewhat jealous that at the moment his brother preferred a cat over him, but patted Mittens on the back anyways. Despite the incident last night, too.

"I'll go buy him some toys," Sam stated offhandedly.

Dean stopped. Blinked. Confused. "You will?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Sure. I'll give your cat a chance." He failed at a smile, picked at his scrambled eggs.

Dean nodded and consumed more bacon.

Azazel licked his lips thoughtfully. So this is what family is like. Caring, solving their problems. Emotions. There was a warm feeling in Azazel's chest, one he didn't know how to handle. These thoughts were disconcerting, so he leapt from the table, retreating to the front door. He needed to think more his second plan. Dean let him outside.

The cat stretched his legs out and sprinted into the lush forest filled with crunchy dead leaves and birdsong. He'd come back, of course. Right now he just needed to kill something. Azazel had hunted many times before to keep himself going. Eating was such a pain. He liked sleeping, though.

Soon, he spotted a gray squirrel hopping around a tree, scratching in different places as if he was trying to find a nut. Azazel crouched near a rock and peered over a rotting log. The squirrel unknowingly came closer to Azazel, whose haunches rocked back and forth as he prepared to pounce. Step...step...step...SQUEAK! He broke the squirrel's neck when his paw pinned it to the ground.

When he was halfway through his meal, Azazel had yet another idea. He evilly smiled, eyes losing their pupils for a moment.

* * *

Dean adjusted the TV antennae for the thousandth time. The screen still made static noises and a black and white blizzard. "Come on!" he yelled at it like it could hear him and would start working.

Sam peeked into Dean's room. "You okay in here?"

"I'm friggin' terrific!" Dean shouted, giving the television a solid whack. And another. And another.

Sam traveled back down the hallway, answering the sound at the door. He opened it, and Azazel was sitting next to a half-eaten squirrel.

"Dean, it's for you," Sam said, picking the carcass up from the bushy tail. Azazel disappeared back into the woods. Guts fell onto the ground as Sam stared at the squirrel in his hand. "Ah...that's disgusting." Sam carried the dead animal into the kitchen, where Dean caught up with him.

"I'm guessing that wasn't a message from Crowley?" Dean asked as Sam stepped on the trash can lever, opening the top.

"Nope," Sam dumped the body into the trash, the lid closing. "He's not one for killing squirrels."

"Be worse if it was a moose," Dean grinned. Sam shook his head. "Our cat is a hunter just like us. Be proud. I heard that cats kill things and leave them at your door to impress you."

"More like being rude," Sam countered. "I got a spleen on my shoe."

"Eww."


	6. References

Later that night, Sam returned from a shopping trip with a box of cat supplies. Dean traded places with his brother, leaving in the Impala for his date with Cameron.

"Mittens," Sam called as he entered the bunker. "I got you some stuff."

Azazel was curled up on an old, red velvet armchair. Earlier for lunch, he had left them a mouse's head. They didn't let him go back outside, though Dean did say, "Mouse is one letter away from moose."

Sam set the box on the library table, opening a bag of cat food and pouring it into a blue bowl. It rang, making Azazel's ears twitch. He didn't like that sound. It meant foul-tasting balls of a spicy cardboard-like substance called "cat food." Now he'd never get to have bacon again.

The younger Winchester filled a different bowl with water, placed both of them in a corner of the library. "See that?" Sam asked. Azazel lifted his head. Sam gulped uncomfortably.

_Achoo_! Azazel sneezed, moving his face to readjust his whiskers.

Now that the tension was relieved, Sam pulled a ball of yarn out of the box and tossed it next to Azazel. No reaction. Sam tried a fuzzy mouse next, walking over and dangling it in front of him. Azazel wasn't amused, but he pretended to be interested, reaching out to bat the fake rodent. Sam smiled. He moved it farther into the air so Azazel had to reach higher, standing up and then sitting on his hind legs, extending both paws to get the mouse.

Sam was beginning to like this cat. He hadn't ever owned a cat in his life, so different than a dog. Mittens wouldn't need to be walked or have a tennis ball thrown. Easy. He still didn't want the cat scratching at his door at night and disturbing him, though.

At one point, Azazel gave up trying to secure the mouse. Sam was stronger than him. Thought he'd never think that sentence, or lose to a moose like him.

"Here," Sam placed the mouse between Azazel's paws and then reached into the box, grabbing handfuls of stuff and placing it next to Azazel.

_Thanks, Sammy. I feel so loved_, Azazel determined sarcastically.

"I'm a crazy old cat man," Sam mumbled and then left for Dean's room. He knew something about the TV that Dean did not.

As Sam messed with the wires behind the fizzing television, Azazel jumped onto the bed and curled up on the soft pillows. The scent of shampoo was prevalent.

"Aha!" Sam exclaimed as the TV screen showed a black-and-white image of Elvis singing. He turned the volume knob and he could hear "Blue Suede Shoes" being sung. "Should I change the channel?" he asked the cat.

_I can dig Elvis, _Azazel thought.

Sam turned the knob to different places, all being colorless. He finally found the fourth installment of _Harry Potter, _the one where Harry does that wizarding competition. It wasn't his first choice, but nothing else was on. He shifted onto the bed, noticing that the cat had followed him into Dean's room. He reached out a hand and scratched Azazel under the chin. He leaned into it, purring.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?!" Dumbledore yelled at Harry.

"That was uncalled for," Sam remarked.

_Indeed_, Azazel complied.

* * *

Dean arrived back in the bunker, yet again defeated by a member of the opposite gender. Cameron wasn't the type of girl he thought she'd be: easy. The only thing worse now that he was home? His younger brother was sleeping on his bed, Mittens curled up on his chest. Dean didn't exactly feel like smiling, but he was glad Sam accepted his pet. And _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ was playing on the black-and-white television screen. Dean didn't understand anything that was happening, but he did hope that Harry would hook up with that Hermione chick before shutting the TV off.

He snuck around to the side of the bed, pulling an iPod from the drawer. He turned the volume up, touched a couple of buttons, and soon loud music played:

_**IT WAS THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT!**_

Sam screamed—a manly yelp, not a girly squeal—sitting upright and dumping Azazel onto the floor, where he hid under the bed. Dean snickered. "Rise and shine, Sammy!"

"What the hell?!"

"Did you forget it's Tuesday?" Dean asked with a grin. "There's a pig in a poke waiting for you in the kitchen."

"Not funny," Sam muttered.

"Come on. It's your and Gabriel's song," Dean teased.

"Yeah right!" Sam stomped out of Dean's room and into his own, firmly closing the door behind him.

Dean got on his knees and searched under the bed where the cat crouched. Azazel's yellow eyes glowed fugitively. "Did I scare ya, buddy?" He received a hiss in response. Dean figured he'd better leave the cat alone or he would get scratched. "Good night." He flopped onto his bed, not bothering with the covers, and was annoyed that his bed now smelled like Sam. Too clean.

Meanwhile, under the bed, Azazel flattened out his fur and then slunk out. The door was cracked, so he widened it and slipped through, going back to the library. _Where'd the book go?!_ He wondered, realizing it was back on the top shelf. Not again. The same process as the previous night was repeated. Hours of reading about various incidents and research, finding nothing, and having to put it back on the shelf before he collapsed from fatigue, taking his place on the red velvet chair next to all the stuff that Sam bought him. "Okay, so maybe you are still my favorite," Azazel admitted aloud, adjusting his voice so it wouldn't sound scratchy. "And... I'll..." he was beginning to fall asleep, words spaced out. "...get...back...to...to...to..."

He didn't have the energy to complete his thought.

Or maybe he didn't want to.


	7. Toothpaste

At afternoon the next day, the Winchesters left to eat lunch at a good restaurant for once, some French place whose name they couldn't pronounce if their lives depended on it. Azazel was left alone with nothing to do. Once again, the book had been moved to the top shelf, and he didn't want to go through the agony of climbing up the shelf.

Instead, he sprinted from his velvet chair into the bathroom, finding Dean's bottle of hair gel on the counter. Perfect!

Azazel leapt onto the counter, seeing that Dean hadn't capped the bottle. First, he made it tip over and then squeezed the liquid into and down the sink. Next, he pawed open the medicine cabinet, grabbed a vial of toothpaste, and somehow managed to fit that stuff into the empty hair gel bottle, which he knocked into the trash can. Dean would find out tomorrow morning, Sam would get blamed, and Azazel would watch as the brothers would argue. It had always been his job to set things in motion.

He looked at the black cat with white paws in the mirror. _What am I becoming?_

* * *

When evening came, Azazel had to be extra cautious; there was an angel in the bunker for what was dubbed "boy's night." Dressed in a trench coat thrown over a suit and blue tie, Cas spoke in a rough voice, wary of the cat. Dean had called Castiel earlier that day because Dean felt like they shouldn't use Cas when they get into trouble.

Now the angel was sitting in Azazel's chair, bottle in hand, staring at him. Azazel stared back from the floor. He twitched his tail back and forth, irritated. _You're in my chair...get out of my chair...go away, you winged freak! Russian spies wear trench coats, Putin groupie! _Ever since Azazel had discovered that the comfortable chair was good for napping or otherwise, he'd spent a lot of time in it.

"Cas?" Dean asked as he took an adjacent chair in the library, a bottle of beer also in his hand. Sam sat on the floor drinkless, leaning against a table leg. "What's the matter?"

"There's something wrong with your cat," Castiel replied.

"Not you too!" Dean exclaimed, taking a swig of beer. "Sam had his thoughts at first, but I can assure you that Mittens is not a demon, shapeshifter, or otherwise."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "I do not trust him. See how he's looking at me."

The Winchesters gazed at their cat.

"You're in his chair," Sam stated.

"Maybe you should move," Dean suggested.

"No," Cas said defiantly. "Why are you letting this cat boss you around?"

"He scratches at my door when he's not happy," Sam said, glad that the previous night hadn't been annoying as the one before that. "He doesn't even eat cat food."

"And he brings us rodent heads..." Dean trailed off, thinking of the mutilated chipmunk he'd found on the doorstep this morning.

Cas sighed. "Alright." He stood up and took a few steps to his right, invading Dean's personal space as always.

Azazel jumped onto his chair, circled around eight times, and laid down with a mocking grin on his face that seemed to say, _One point goes to the demons, loser!_

"Dude, back up," Dean roughly said to Cas.

"Oh," Cas said, shifting position again. "My apologies. So, we're going to 'make small talk?'"

"Yep," Dean drank more from his bottle.

"Okay, I think I have this technique perfected," Cas stated, clearing his throat. "Do you have a piece of gum?" his voice was lighter, less gravelly.

Sam shook his head, a little smile on his face. "No. And that's for strangers."

Cas cursed in Enochian.

"I know. Tell Cas about your failed date," Sam smirked at his brother.

"She gave me the 'It's not you; it's me' routine," Dean replied. "When was the last time _you_ had a date, Sammy?"

"A bought a bag of them this morning," he joked, referencing to the fruit. For once, Cas got the joke, and gave a little laugh.

"Wow," Dean sarcastically remarked, "that was so smart."

"Catman!" Cas exclaimed. Now they were all smiling.

Azazel was amused and surprised that Castiel had learned to be more human than any other angel he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. The angel suspiciously glanced at him. This was a good moment to mess with him, so Azazel brought his front paws on the armrest, stretching his body out and giving Cas an innocent stare. The trench-coated man hesitated before giving the cat's head a few strokes. An involuntary purr rose in his chest.

"I think he likes me," Cas commented, going behind the ears.

"He's really nice under all that fur," Sam admitted.

_As if! _Azazel thought. _You wouldn't be saying this if you knew it's me. _He was _not_ nice...even if he had slept on Sam's chest during the Harry Potter movie. That's awkward. Just awkward. But he was thinking of himself less and less of a demon, more of a troublesome cat. He hardly cared about this fact, circling back down into the soft fabric of his chair.

"Here's a newspaper-related joke," Dean said after drinking more beer, moving forward a few inches in his chair. "Did you hear of the nudist column, which nothing looked good on?"

Sam burst out in hysteria. Even Azazel was trying to hide his laughter. Cas appeared to be very confused.

"I do not understand," Castiel stated as Sam continued to laugh uncontrollably.

"Nude...nothing looked good on...?" Dean trailed off, moving his hands in a forward motion to promote thought.

"Ah, yes, I see," Cas smiled, chuckling a bit and taking a seat on the table. "A dirty joke."

Azazel hiccupped. The three men looked at him. He would've blushed if he could. When he hiccupped again—a full-body spasm—the guys chuckled.

"He _does_ take after me," Dean stated.

The three men and one cat were up until midnight shooting the breeze, drinking, and eating pie. Azazel listened to their conversation, picking up various pieces of information, like how Cas yelled at Michael "Hey assbutt!" and what pizza men do to unsuspecting babysitters. At one point, a drunk Dean decided to switch the radio on to a random station and turn the volume up really loud. It was a pop song that they didn't know the name of, but they started dancing around and around, and the chorus was like:

_"Gonna love ya, gonna love ya_

_like a black widow, baby!"_

"Hey," Dean swung around a chair while Sam, falling on the floor, stared at imaginary socks dancing on the ceiling, "I think this is 'Black Widow' by Iggy Az...Azazel," he slurred, knowing through the intoxication that he'd once sung this song at the bar where him and Crowley used to hang out. "Iggy Azazel! Yellow-eyed celebrity!"

Castiel, also drunk, spun around with an unhappy Azazel in his arms. His tie kept hitting the cat in the face. "Kim Jong-un Kardashian is a demon, too! Get the salt!"

"I like how you think," Dean replied with a grin. He looked down his bottle. "What happened to my beer?"

"Iggy Azazel s-stole it," Cas hiccupped, and then tripped over Sam and crashed to the floor.

Azazel got out of Cas' tight grip and ran for cover under his chair.

* * *

The next morning, Dean was so hungover he didn't realize that he put toothpaste in his hair. He stumbled over to the kitchen table. Luckily, Sam hadn't drank as much and had plates of bacon ready for them. Cas had his head on the table, his trench coat missing.

"Where's your trench coat?" Dean asked, shaking his head to get focused.

"You're wearing it," Cas groaned.

Dean looked at himself. Over the jeans and black muscle shirt, he was wearing Cas' trench coat. "I don't remember what happened..." he took a seat between the angel and his brother, not bothering to take it off.

"In my hallucination, socks ate me," Sam said. "And I remember something about Iggy Azalea."

"You smell minty fresh," Cas told Dean.

"Huh?" Dean moaned.

Cas got into his personal space, giving his hair a whiff. "You smell minty."

"Whoa there," Dean pushed Cas away by the shoulder. Dean ran his fingers through his own hair. "Sam, did you do this?"

"Nope," Sam replied.

"Liar."

Azazel watched from the comfort of his chair in the library, also working off some alcohol he'd decided to take in last night, since it was just lying in a puddle on the floor, and hey, somebody had to clean it up. That was the most fun he had in...decades. Secretly, he hoped he would have more nights like that.


	8. I'm so Fancy

Weeks passed. Sam and Dean went hunting sometimes, leaving Azazel back at the bunker for days at a time. The brothers had decided to put in a cat door so he could get in and out without a problem. One day, he suddenly had the inclination to turn the radio on, finding a rap station that played Iggy Azalea's songs. Often times, when the Winchesters were home, he'd jump up on their laps and get petted, especially when Sam was trying to work at the computer. For some reason, he'd forgotten all about his mission to regain his position in hell. The cat in him was taking over, a sort of cure for demons like how Sam had cured Dean with human blood.

Today, they were home, and it was a beautiful afternoon with a cool temperature and a slight breeze, Azazel lying on top of the Impala getting sun. He was reflecting on how happy and easy his life was when it all fell apart.

"Hello, boy," a British voice said slyly. "Moose and squirrel are friends with a lynx?"

Azazel stood up at attention, fur bristling, ears laid down, eyes losing their pupils. "Crowley."

The king of hell leaned against the Impala, shaking his head. "Tell me what's going on, Azazel. I don't think I understand."

"How'd you know it was me?" Azazel asked, voice raspy from not speaking for a while.

"Well, I almost didn't, but there's still some demon left in you. Now answer my question, or shall I tell them that it's you?"

Azazel flattened his fur and sat down, curling his tail around his paws. "I was finding out inside information," he lied.

"And you didn't bother to tell anyone?" Crowley questioned, giving an incredulous look. He already knew the reason.

"It's embarrassing when you have whiskers."

"I can see that. Wait, you haven't been cuddling with them, have you?"

The cat narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, this is too good!" Crowley bellowed. "The former king of hell reduced to this! Well, you don't have to worry anymore. I'll take you back with me and restore you to your proper state as long as I know that you have my support."

Azazel didn't want to go back. "No."

"No?" Crowley straightened, moving closer. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I mean—I—" he looked down at his paws, not wanting to admit it. "I—I'm happy here."

Crowley blinked. "I don't think you quite understand. You _are_ going to come with me."

"No way. What would you know about my condition?"

"I know enough. I also know where your meat suit is buried. Wouldn't you like to have it back?"

"No thanks," Azazel sprung from the Impala and ran for the door, but Crowley popped up in front of him.

"That's not an option. When I turn you back into a full demon, you'll only feel twisted once again."

* * *

"Sam, have you seen Mittens?" Dean hollered from his room, looking under his bed.

Sam came to the door. "He's probably outside hunting."

"Never been gone this long," Dean stood up. "What if he got hit by a car?"

"You hit him with the Impala," Sam pointed out.

"Baby doesn't hurt cats. There's also been no dead mice or birds for a while, so I'm gonna outside and look for him," he brushed past his younger brother, who sighed.

As Dean exited the bunker, there was a piece of paper taped to the Impala. He snatched it off and read the handwriting written with a black sharpie.

**_Dear Moose and Not Moose,_**

**_I kidnapped your cat who happens to be the yellow-eyed demon that killed your parents. Good luck with that little family issue._**

**_Love,_**

**_Crowley :)_**

Dean frowned. "What the hell is this shit?" He entered the bunker, waving the note in the air.

Sam walked over, grabbed the note, and read it. He said nothing; unable to say anything.

"Do you think Crowley is just messing with us?" Dean asked after there was much silence.

"It would explain why I felt uncomfortable around Mittens or whatever at first," Sam said slowly, processing.

"Dude, our cat is not Azazel."

"Wanna bet?"

Dean shook his head to clear his mind. "You really think that Azazel would watch _Harry Potter,_ sleep on your chest, and eat my pie?"

"Whoa. When you put it like that..." Sam shivered. "It had to be an act."

"Cas didn't sense anything wrong, either."

At that moment, there was the sound of wings.

"Speak of the devil," Dean said.

"Lucifer is still in the cage," Castiel replied. "But we don't have time for that. Word is out that Azazel is still alive."

"I told you!" Sam exclaimed. "I knew from the beginning that there was something wrong! He was our cat!"

Cas looked up at the tall Winchester. "Mittens?"

"Why didn't you sense it?" Sam asked. Dean stood there confusedly.

"I don't know, but if Azazel is going to be working with Crowley, they are our biggest problem now," the angel answered.

"Azazel was our cat?" Dean asked this like he couldn't believe it. "All those times...this isn't right." He turned away from the two, hands on his hips, head pointed to the ceiling in question.

"Maybe you two should sit down," Cas suggested.

"I don't want to sit down!" Dean shouted all of a sudden, turning back to them. His face was murderously furious. "That son of a bitch's fur is everywhere! How could I have been such an idiot?!"

"With his frame of mind and no strong demonic pulse, I thought he was a legitimate cat," Cas admitted.

"That makes three of us," Sam huffed.

"So, what's the plan?" Dean inquired.

* * *

Azazel wanted to die. Nothing would've been better than to just kick the bucket, never having to face the Winchesters or go through some re-demonization process only known to Crowley, whom he despised. Now, he was forced to sit on Crowley's lap (while he sat on his throne) and be petted, listening to the business of hell and have all the demons he used to know snickering at him. He growled the entire time.

"There, there, Azazel," Crowley said. "My lackeys will be back with the needed ingredients soon."

"Let me go," he hissed.

"Do you really think they'd let you back into their home after all the awful things you did to them?" was the rhetorical question.

Azazel considered that, shutting his eyes tightly. He'd never be able to go back to the way things were. He couldn't stay here, though, and be Crowley's second in command. He would have to leave and go far, far away, and live out the rest of his life as some old lady's pet.

Two demons walked into the room carrying Azazel's vessel. There was a hole in the heart where it was shot with the Colt.

"Ah yes, there we are," Crowley said, standing up with the cat in his arms. Azazel tried to wiggle out of his grip. "Alright, boys, tie him up."

One of the demons applied a rope to his legs and tossed him into a pentagram drawn in the corner of the room with the vessel.

"The bullet's been removed," Crowley continued. "So you'll be free to move around again."

More demons appeared, one with a large bowl of a cup of blood in hand, another with a bag of some mineral, others with various plants.

"Shall we get started, then?" Crowley asked, grabbing the bowl of blood and placing it in the pentagram with Azazel. He also tossed one of the plants in.

"You don't have to do this, Crowley," Azazel reasoned, writhing around.

Crowley shrugged, dumping the minerals from the bag into the bowl. "Ha! I have big plans, kitty. You'll see. Besides, you're gonna be a powerful demon again. Except you won't spend as much time talking as you will doing what I say." He stuck a rag in the cat's mouth so he wouldn't talk anymore.

That was when a blast of loud music—'Fancy' by Iggy Azalea—erupted through the open doors.


	9. The Lies, the Truth, and the Family

All of the demons except for Crowley disintegrated upon the music's impact; there were anti-demon symbols scrawled all over the large radio Dean had slung over his shoulder. At another _'I'm so fancy'_, Crowley covered his ears. "What is all this racket?!"

Castiel charged in, angel blade poised to strike. Dean backed him up with the radio, wearing fluffy pink earmuffs. It was scrounged at the last moment possible, y'know. Cas had explained to the Winchesters that the only way to prevent Crowley's plan from happening was to actually rescue Azazel. That seemed more important than lots of deaths resulting from the catastrophic event that would surely follow. Sam had stayed behind, unwilling to come, to go through awful things for a cat. Dean came because he thought it was important that Crowley was stopped, because he wanted to cut Azazel into pieces himself, and because he couldn't let his best friend go through purgatory and into hell alone.

"We're here for the cat," Dean replied.

"What?!" Crowley shouted over the noise of Iggy Azalea's singing.

Dean shut off the radio, dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor along with the earmuffs, and pulled out the demon knife. "We're here for the cat," he repeated.

"Oh, I see," Crowley said. "I anticipated you trying to stop me. Where's Moose?"

"Doesn't matter," Cas inched forward as Dean walked behind him towards Azazel. "We wouldn't allow this to happen no matter what."

Crowley grinned and raised his hands up as Cas held the angel blade at his throat. "Well, at least Squirrel's back where this friendship started. Am I right?"

Dean ignored the king of hell, grabbed Azazel by the scruff of his neck and lifted him into the air, green eyes looking into yellow ones. "I'm not here because I care," he muttered, like it needed to be said.

_I'm sorry, _Azazel could only think, since he was still gagged.

"You gonna raise both of them from perdition?" Crowley asked Cas.

"That's right," Cas stated, backing up but keeping the angel blade pointed at the demon. When he reached Dean, he gripped his shoulder and the three disappeared with the swoosh of wings.

Crowley scoffed. "That was fun."

* * *

Sam was waiting at the kitchen table, sour look etched on his face as he disgustedly glared at the ball of yarn him and Azazel had played with so much in the ignorant weeks that had been happy.

Cas, Dean, and the cat himself appeared in the room. Sam jumped up immediately, the demon knife ready to be shoved in Azazel's chest.

"Whoa, Sammy," Dean said, Azazel still hanging midair by his neck. "Cas and I had a discussion."

"Is that why it took longer than you said it would?" Sam snarled.

"Put the knife down," Cas commanded.

"No, I won't."

"We still have a pet cat," Dean said, laying the cat on the table, untying and ungagging him. He shook himself.

"What the hell does that mean?!" Sam demanded.

"I pulled his soul out," Cas explained.

Sam blinked. "You what?"

"He's purely cat now," Cas said as formerly Azazel rolled over on his side. "His soul has been cleaned and thrown back into the cycle of reincarnation. Mittens is a regular cat." He ran a hand over Mittens' fur.

Dean added, "Cats shouldn't have souls, ya know. I thought it would be better this way."

"And Azazel is being reincarnated as what?" Sam asked.

"I think he's going to be future president," Cas replied. "I couldn't untwist all of his soul."

Sam sat back down, putting the demon knife on the table. "Wow."

"So we get to keep him. Any problems?" Dean asked, taking a seat next to his brother. Mittens batted at Cas' tie.

"I...I guess not," Sam said.

"Well, if you don't need me for anything else, I'll go," Cas stated.

"See ya later, then," Dean waved as the angel disappeared.

Mittens looked bewildered, then moved to the ball of yarn, hitting it with his paw. He chased it off the table.

"He's acting the same," Sam commented.

"Maybe Azazel really did like it here," Dean mused. "Before here, we went to this park and sat him on a picnic table. He said all sorts of..._nice_...stuff." He shook his head. "I believed it. He also admitted that he was the one who put toothpaste in my hair gel bottle."

Mittens slunk out the back door.

* * *

"I never knew angels could be such great liars," Azazel meowed. "Thanks, Castiel."

"Don't mention it," Cas said, eyes shifting all around the dark woods where this secret meeting was taking place. "Just don't play any more human-like pranks." He had read Azazel's mind back at the park, knowing how much he wanted to stay with the Winchesters. It broke the angel's heart. He always felt the same way, and decided to tell Dean a harmless lie, when he did purify the rest of Azazel's soul.

The cat huffed. "Alright. And we're all safe from Crowley?"

Cas nodded. "He got a message that you're dead."

"Good," he purred.

* * *

Even after several years, things were still normal. Or as normal as things can get with the Winchesters.

Azazel chased a red dot around the library, sliding around on the tile floor. Dean spun the laser pointer around and around, laughing as Azazel sometimes plowed into a bookshelf or table leg. Sam entered the room in his pajamas. "Hey, _Harry Potter_'s on."

"Really?" Dean asked, not bothering to look at his brother. He pointed the light at the wall, where Azazel jumped up to get it. "Which one?"

"The first one."

"Hm...okay," Dean stood up, moving the laser pointer from side to side, watching as the cat followed it intently. Then he directed it onto the floor and the three of them walked into the living room, where the television had been moved. Castiel was sitting in a black bean bag chair, watching as letters flew out of the chimney. Dean switched off the pointer.

"This is quite interesting," the angel remarked as Sam and Dean took respective seats on the beige couch they'd purchased. Azazel sat in between them, purring.

They all watched the movie, a happy little family who would always stick together.

**_The End_**

**Thanks for reading, loyal fans! :)**


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